A Charm for a Unicorn (11 page)

Even if they hated it, the other men had to fight. They couldn't claim a title or a kingdom and escape the war. Instead, they had to follow orders. Why was he different? He rested his forehead on the spar and wished his head would stop aching. Maybe that would help him make a decision. But in his heart, he knew what his decision would be. He was staying with his comrades.

Suddenly his head felt strangely light, and his fingers began to slip from the spar of wood.

"Hang on, there's a boat coming now.” The little mouse jumped up and down on Renaldo's shoulder and waved.

Renaldo's vision darkened. “Has night fallen?” he asked the mouse.

"No. Keep your eyes open. Oh Renaldo! I say, stay awake! Over here, over here! Help us! Over here!"

The mouse's shrill voice was the last thing Renaldo heard before he slipped into the icy water and sank.

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The search for Leonie had been going on for five days now. Each day, Sylvain rode in a different direction, but always came back to Sir Wulfe's castle at night. Sylvain lodged in the stables, in a small room above his horses’ stalls. In the evenings, he studied the maps the wizard had of the surrounding countryside, since he didn't know this kingdom very well.

The king of Querel was an ally of his father's, that much he knew. Right now, Querel was enmeshed in a nasty civil war which had started when the two crown princes had each laid claim to ruling the kingdom. Sylvain had heard of the war, who hadn't? But the results of the war had been tragic so far. Farms lay fallow, forest reclaimed fields, and a pall hung over the land.

Sylvain saw this as he rode out each day. At night, in the magician's dining room, he spoke to the wizard about it. “Forgive my ignorance, but isn't there any way to put an end to the war between the princes?"

The wizard shook his head. “The kingdom is divided. I have dealings only with the old king. He still rules this small part of the land, but his sons have taken over the rest. Each young man decided to raise and army and attack his brother.

"There were some people for one prince, and others who preferred his brother. In the beginning, everyone thought the war would end quickly. But you see, every time a soldier dies on one side, his family revolts against the side of the prince who killed him. In this way, whole cities have started to fight each other. Even in the countryside and in small villages the strife has separated friend and family alike as more and more people die, and more and more families grieve and want vengeance.” The wizard shook his head, an expression of frustration on his face.

"Can you do anything to stop this? Surely with your powers..."

Sir Wulfe silenced him with a wave of his hand. “My powers don't include making miracles, but I'm trying. I thought to unite the kingdom in a wedding ceremony. Perhaps it was presumptuous of me, but I'm popular with both sides. I organized a huge wedding and invited dignitaries from the two armies. Both princes agreed to come to my wedding, and they haven't met face to face for over three years. It was the first glimmer of hope for this kingdom in ages."

"So it
is
important I find your betrothed.” Sylvain hesitated, then boldly said, “Sir Wulfe, does she want to marry you? Why did she flee?"

The wizard sighed. “She fell in love with another."

Bile rose, stinging Sylvain's throat, but he managed to shrug and say, “Does she care for you at all?"

"She has known me since she was a child, and though she does not care for me, I admit to hoping she would come to appreciate me. When I saw her, I was struck by her beauty, but more than that, her goodness. She is pure of heart, and I count on her to appease the war between the princes. I am sure that she will be able to somehow bring them together."

"But how?” Sylvain shook his head.

Sir Wulfe leaned forward. “What did you think when you first saw her?"

That was easy. Sylvain would never forget his first sight of her as she came down the stairs in the rainstorm. His thoughts had fled. He couldn't think of a thing, except about the lovely woman standing before him. She'd chased everything else from his mind. His brother, the storm, his cold feet, everything had faded into nothing compared to her. A sort of warmth emanated from her, and at the dinner table, he'd had the most absurd urge to protect her.

"I wanted her to smile,” Sylvain admitted.

The wizard nodded. “She has a certain charm, and it entrances everyone. When the two princes see her, they will...” He paused, then said, “They will start communicating with each other again."

"But if she has no wish to marry you, why force her?” Sylvain paused when he caught sight of the magician's furious glare. “Begging your pardon, sir."

"She is a young, easily influenced maiden. She will do as I say, and everything will be fine. The two princes will meet and sign a truce ... with my urging. And the people shall acclaim me as their benefactor. The king does as I say. And when the two princes are under my power they will do my bidding as well."

"Do your bidding?” Sylvain suddenly felt very uncomfortable. The wizard quaffed more wine; his fifth glass, Sylvain noted.

There was an awkward pause, then, “Of course, I mean to bid them to make peace,” the wizard hastened to add.

Sylvain kept his voice light. “Ah, I see.” But something sounded wrong in the magician's words. Or perhaps it was the crafty look that gleamed in his eyes. “Will the two princes rule together then?"

The wizard looked at his empty glass and sighed. “How can two rulers rule at once? They would spend their time bickering, especially after they see Leonie.” He coughed and said, “I mean, they will not be able to put aside their quarrel unless there is but one ruler."

"Will their father, the king, choose between them?” Sylvain prodded.

"Perhaps."

The tall, dark green candles in the center of the table sputtered and wavered as they neared the end of their wicks. The hour was late. In the doorway a servant stood, waiting for the wizard to leave before clearing the table. Outside, night had deepened and delicate arabesques of frost covered the windows.

"Good night, sir.” Sylvain stood, intending to leave.

"Why does she hate me so?” The magician's words stopped him in his tracks.

Sylvain turned. “Hate you?"

"Yes. She hates me. I felt it when she was here. She's known me for years, so why does she hate me? I would go to her father's house, sometimes just to see her. Yet she met a prince, just once did she meet him, and she closed her heart to anyone else but him."

"A prince?” Sylvain held his breath, waiting for more information, but the magician just pounded his fist on the table, knocking over a candelabra. Melted wax spattered across the snow-white, damask tablecloth, dotting it with green.

Sylvain blinked. Snow. Green. Spring green and winter snow. A unicorn in the forest. He lifted his gaze to the magician. “I don't think she's capable of hating anyone,” he said.

Sir Wulfe didn't seem to hear him. “She would sit in her room looking out her window, and though her words were polite, they were laced with disdain, as if I were nothing but a wretched fool."

"The wine has made you maudlin,” said Sylvain, righting the candelabra and setting the candlesticks back in their places. His fingers sank into the hot wax. “The tablecloth is ruined."

"She abhors me, but it matters not. I love her. We will wed at the winter solstice, and she will become my bride."

"Love?” Sylvain picked at a bit of wax with his fingernail. “I think you misunderstand the meaning of that word. If you loved her, you would want her to be happy, not cold and silent at your side."

Silence, deep as a well, settled between them. Sylvain concentrated on peeling the wax off the tablecloth. The only light came from the torches set in the doorway, and from the pale moon shining through the window, so that shadows lay in tangles on the white tablecloth. Everything had two shadows, one from firelight and one from moonlight. Only the wizard had none, sitting as he was in shadow. But his eyes glittered and he stirred. “It matters not if she is happy. She will unite the kingdom. At winter solstice, everything will be in place. The princes, the king, the right people will be here ... Everyone is coming here for the wedding. And they will see Leonie."

"Leonie,” Sylvain echoed.

"Everything depends on you, young man. A horse trader will be a national hero here in Querel. Everyone will acclaim you, and you will be among the guests of honor at the wedding feast.” Sir Wulfe flung his arm wide, narrowly missing the wine carafe.

"It's late. I bid you good night, sir.” Sylvain left, passing in front of the silent servant. He nodded to the man, who nodded back. The servants in Sir Wulfe's castle rarely spoke except to their master, and Sylvain was sure they were all transformations like Ann's servants had been.

What kind of man surrounds himself with enchantments instead of real people? Sylvain wondered, as he lay in his bed in the stables, listening to the soft sounds his horses made in their stalls below him. In the back of his mind he saw a green clearing in the midst of a white, frost spangled forest. “A unicorn glade,” he breathed.

The next day, Sylvain packed his camping gear and took both horses with him. He stopped at the castle long enough to get supplies for one week, and told Sir Wulfe's butler that he would be gone for a while.

"Don't expect me back for at least a week,” he said to the dour man standing at the front door.

"I shall tell Sir Wulfe, never fear."

Sylvan rode into the forest and let his horse have its head. “Go where you wish,” he said to the animal. His horse flicked his ears, then ambled slowly along a leaf-strewn trail. Autumn was nearly over. The trees stretched bare branches to the pewter sky, and rabbits and deer wore thick coats of fur.

Sylvain knew his horses would be pulled toward the unicorn haven. The scent of spring would come to their nostrils. A hint of fresh grass would act as a lure. Tomorrow or the next day, or even the next, his horses would catch the faint scent of springtime. They would raise their heads and their nostrils would flare. A green, eager look would come into their eyes and their steps would be lighter.

He let the reins loose on his horse's neck and settled back in the saddle. He was glad of his warm cloak, for it was chilly and his breath made white clouds in the air. That night he built a fire, and both he and the horses huddled around it. All night long he tossed branches on the fire, keeping the cold at bay.

When dawn came, he broke ice on a frozen stream and heated water for tea and for washing. His horses crunched on the oats in their feedbags, then when they finished, drank deeply in the stream. That was all they would get until the evening. Sylvain counted on their hunger. It would sharpen the horse's senses and lead them to the unicorn haven.

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"Oh, lad! Wake up!"

Renaldo opened his eyes. They hurt. In fact, everything hurt. His whole body felt battered and sore. He didn't recognize the man bending over him, but he recognized his rank: a wizard medic, with a surgeon's vest and silver pin.

"Am I in a hospital ward?"

"You are.” The doctor patted him on the shoulder. “How do you feel, son?"

"Not very well.” Renaldo tried to sit up, but he had no strength at all and his whole body ached.

The doctor put his hand on his shoulder. “Lie still. You're safe now. This is a hospital ward, and no fighting is allowed here. You can relax. My name is Sir Yarlly, and I am in charge."

Renaldo glanced around, but his bed lay behind drawn curtains, and he could see nothing but the ceiling. It was painted yellow, and the color cheered him up for a moment. The doctor saw his glance and nodded.

"It's a jolly color, isn't it? This is usually the children's ward, but the war has made it hard to find free beds."

Renaldo fingered the sheets, which were smooth linen. Even the curtains around his bed were made from butter-yellow cotton with small fairy-bears embroidered on them. He thought of his own country. The hospitals were plain, though the wizard medics competent. But a children's ward was a new idea. As soon as he got home, he'd make sure Windtide hospital had one.

"Tell me, son, can you remember your name, and where you are from?"

Renaldo hesitated. Should he say anything? Well, why not? “I can. My name is Renaldo and I'm from Windtide."

The wizard didn't look surprised. He nodded. “And you're a prince, if I'm not mistaken."

"How did you know?"

"You had a mouse in your pocket. He was wet, but not drowned, and has a rather unusual talent."

"Oh. The talking mouse. Where is he?"

"Off in another ward. He'll be back soon, I imagine. He's quite a character and the patients are fond of him. He's taken it upon himself to be a sort of entertainer.” The wizard chuckled. “I wish there were more like him around. At any rate, he told us who you were, and how you came to be on the ship fighting. It caused quite a stir in diplomatic circles, I can assure you."

Renaldo sighed and plucked at the covers. “I supposed messages have been sent."

"Yes. The Crow Callers have been rather busy.” The wizard medic paused. “Your Highness, there is something I need to tell you. When you came to us, your wounds were serious."

"How serious?"

"Your leg, most of all, had been wounded."

"I don't really remember.” Renaldo frowned. “I recall waking up in water, I think I floated a while. Then everything goes dark. Did I break my leg?"

"Yes, it was broken in several places and badly lacerated. We tried very hard, but I'm afraid we were unable to save it. I'm sorry, Your Highness."

An icy trickle ran down Renaldo's back. “What are you talking about?"

"Your leg has been amputated just below the knee. I'm..."

"My leg? Gone? It can't be true!” His head rang with every heart beat. “But I can feel it!” Renaldo tried to sit up again, and groped down his thigh, reaching for his leg.